You Get What You Get
by Socrates7727
Summary: Draco was there, at the War Memorial Gathering, and he saw it turn into a party. Pansy was quick to attach herself to his side, Blaise on his other, but it didn't matter. No one was drawing wands today. He was not prepared, however, for Potter to walk in on the arm of... a guy? Angsty PTSD M for mentions of torture/internalized homophobia h/c Drarry if you squint, planned two shot!


AN I don't own HP or any of the characters! Angsty (planned two shot) with some h/c towards the end. HPDM/Drarry ish if you squint. Enjoy!

* * *

Draco was there, at the War Memorial Gathering, and he saw it turn into a party. He saw the drinks being passed around, he saw the dancing begin near the center of the hall, and he tried not to feel a sting of nostalgia at how much it resembled the Yule Ball. Pansy was quick to attach herself to his side, Blaise on his other, but it didn't matter. No one was drawing wands today.

It was supposed to be a nice reunion, mixed with a bit of mourning and group therapy, but, to Draco, it felt like just another fancy party. The dresses, the suits, the drinks, even the tiny versions of actual food—it all screamed of his parents. He'd hated those parties as a child. Now, he would have taken anything—even the parties—just to feel like he was his old self again.

Draco was not expecting Oliver Wood. If he hadn't played Quidditch, he wouldn't have even known Wood's face let alone his name and he wouldn't have known that he was far too old to be at this party. This was for their year, give or take one either way, but definitely not older. What was he even doing there?

That question was answered when Potter appeared. Ever in the spotlight, Potter did not arrive with his ladies in waiting, nor did he come on the arm of a ginger with little redheaded children at his feet. No, Harry James Potter came on the arm of Oliver Wood.

Immediately, the whispers started. Maybe Potter had injured his leg and merely needed someone to lean on? Unlikely though it was, Draco couldn't help hoping. Pansy began to theorize in his ear and share rumors that she'd heard but Draco wasn't even listening to her anymore. Potter was holding Wood's hand. They hadn't hugged or kissed, but the way they smiled at each other wasn't friendly. The way their fingers intertwined was not brotherly or comforting. Was Potter… gay?

"So glad you guys could make it!" Granger and the Weasel received the pair with open arms, though Draco noted that Ron refrained from touching Wood. This only confirmed his theory. People were staring, gawking, but he saw Wood squeeze Potter's hand and they were laughing together over something, suddenly. Were they _together_?

"Drake, you good?" He hadn't realized he was barely breathing, but even Pansy's voice didn't shock him out of it. They were all smiling. More and more people hugged Potter and shook hands with Wood as if they hadn't just walked in, blatantly closer than friends. Draco glanced around the room, trying to find something—though he didn't know what. An exit. He needed an exit.

"Hey, Draco, are you okay?" Blaise, that time, but Draco hardly heard. His eyes were locked on Potter, watching every hug and smile that he received right alongside Wood. He couldn't breathe. Something wasn't right and he didn't know what or why but he had to get out of that damn room. Pansy grabbed for his arm, but he was already moving. An exit, an exit… For once his tall, slender figure worked to his advantage and his slipped through the crowds as if he were made of nothing at all. That was how he felt, at the moment.

"Drake! Hey, wait up!" Pansy was calling attention to him, he could feel the eyes turning, but he couldn't do it. He couldn't fucking do it and he didn't know why but he had to escape. The air in that damn hall was toxic and it coagulated in his lungs like coats of lead, no matter how hard he tried to suck in oxygen. What the hell was wrong with him!?

He didn't know where he was going. School was in session and there were students everywhere but the main hall, though most were in bed. Instinct urged him towards his old dorm room but he knew that that wouldn't work because he didn't know the password anymore. Another little voice suggested Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, but that felt far too exposed. Besides, the memory of what had happened the last time he'd gone there mid-panic attack was still fresh in his mind and he was not eager to relive that.

Somehow, he wound up outside. He couldn't remember leaving the castle or even walking that far but he was on the Quidditch pitch. It was raining and his suit was drenched but he couldn't make himself care. Fucking Potter! Why the hell did he have to prance on in with Wood on his arm like he was the ruler of the world?! Shaking his head, Draco dislodged the thought and moved into the locker room. The only thing that mattered, now, was finding air that he could actually fucking breathe.

Draco ran into the locker room without even realizing it, collapsing into to the corner that he _knew _was there, hidden between two banks of lockers. He couldn't breathe. Shaking, his threaded his fingers through his hair and pulled, desperate for anything to distract him and snap him out of this spiral of emotion, but it did nothing. Fuck! He was trembling and his skin felt like it was trying to crawl off his body and the floor was tilting but nothing he did made any of it stop. What the hell was wrong with him!?

Surprisingly, it wasn't Blaise or Pansy who found him. A dark suit and dark glasses ducked into the locker room, gunning straight for his corner as if the person knew it was there—knew how good it was for hiding in. Potter kneeled in front of him. Those emerald eyes were full of concern that Draco knew he didn't deserve but he didn't have the voice to say so. Potter didn't even say anything—didn't ask or question him, didn't tell him that everything was going to be okay or offer to get Pansy—he just reached out.

Draco didn't tense or brace for the touch because, though he'd never been fond of human contact, he could handle it. He expected it to be comforting or, at the very least, shock him a bit. The second Potter's fingers brushed his arm, though, Draco was reeling. He was falling and he was drowning and he was spinning into nothingness as if someone had drugged him—Merlin why couldn't he _breathe_?! He started to scream, not even sure why at this point, but his voice was cut off.

At first, he didn't register what had made his body freeze. Then, a white hot strip of pain erupted across his back and he thrashed, trying to escape it any way that he could. It came again, and again, until Draco was sure that his bones and organs were exposed . He couldn't breathe and, every time he tried to suck in air, it was beaten right back out of him.

It burned. The ache started slow, deep in his lower back, and it was nothing compared to the agony of the marks being whipped into his back but it didn't stay that way for long. Before he'd even realized that the blows had stopped, his entire body was out of his control. His muscles seized and trembled of their own accord. Part of him hoped that he would hit his head and pass out, if not die, just to end whatever the hell was happening to him but he didn't.

He snapped back to reality, head full of slush and body aching. Potter was pinning him, a hand on each wrist, to the wall even though he'd stopped fighting and—oh… The Gryffindor looked so fucking terrified that Draco could actually feel his heart break. He knew exactly what had sparked that fear and he scrambled, trying to pull his left sleeve back down, but Potter let him go without a fight and his sleeve was… already down? Wait, what?

"Hey, hey, just breathe. What happened? What's wrong?" What was wrong? Draco wanted to scream at the man that everything was wrong because he'd never had a panic attack like that before and he had no idea where it was coming from but his voice refused. Potter wanted to know what was wrong.

"You're gay!" That stopped everything. Potter sat back on his heels and stared, as if those words didn't belong in his context, and Draco couldn't have explained what had made him say that if he'd been given Veritaserum. Vaguely, he was aware that he was crying.

"And that… hurts you?" No! Draco wanted to scream—no words, no explanations, just flat out scream until his vocal chords gave out—but he didn't have enough air. Images were pouring through his mind, now, but he didn't recognize any of them and they were only making the panic worse. Potter reached for him again, but that was all it took.

"Don't fucking touch me!" Potter immediately backed off, but Draco's mouth was out of his control now. "Don't touch me! You show up with that _twit_ on your arm and you parade around in all your fucking glory—and then what? You get _hugs!?_ People smile and shake your hand and love you because you're the goddamn Savior of the wizarding world!?" Potter was staring at him, mouth open, confusion written into every corner of his face. Draco didn't know what he was saying, what he was doing, and he wasn't even aware that he'd thought these things until his mouth said them. He couldn't stop, though.

"Fucking _hugs_! Smiles and hugs and everyone just fucking loves you even when you're holding hands with him! You get _hugs_! You know what _I_ got, Potter?!" Potter gaped at him, shaking his head, but it occured to Draco in that moment that even _he_ didn't know what he'd gotten either. What was he even saying?

"No, what did you get?" Fuck, Potter's voice was shaking. If he made the Savior cry, there was no telling what kind of hell would rain down on him back at the party. What _had _he gotten? Draco couldn't remember what this was even about or why he'd gotten anything but his mouth ran away from him without his consent. His lips moved, fighting him like his body wanted to confess even if his mind didn't.

"I got _destroyed_…" He wasn't aware of what he was saying until it hit the air, but then it suddenly all made sense. The flashes of pain, the images, the panic attack… He understood. And he hated it. His body fought the realization, heaving and threatening to throw up despite the fact that Draco hadn't eaten all day. He hated it, he hated it more than he'd ever hated anything and he could feel himself slipping again but nothing could stop it—

Until there were arms around his middle. Potter was holding him, pinning his arms against his chest and forcing him to feel every breath the man took. He couldn't breathe, but then Potter's chin was on his shoulder and his voice was in his ear. Whispering, soothing… Draco wasn't even comprehending the words but the tone was enough for his nervous system to slowly calm down. His hands shook, even where Potter held them, and he was crying but he could breathe. It was faint, but it was oxygen.

Harry didn't ask. To the former Gryffindor's credit, he just sat there and held Draco until long after the panic subsided and the tears stopped. He didn't interrogate, he didn't let go, he just kept speaking. Soft, low little reassurances that didn't mean anything substantial but somehow meant the world to Draco's panicked mind. Slowly, he breathed. In, and out, until the room stopped spinning and the colors seemed to move back to their correct places. Still, Potter didn't ask. Just like before, though, Draco's mouth opened of its own accord and he was as much a member of the audience as Potter was, learning everything as he said it.

"He saw Blaise and I share a bed," Draco whispered, his voice choked and rough but very much there. "We were having a sleepover, and it was late so we had to be quiet. I was upset—I don't even remember why—and Blaise was trying to make my laugh because he was my best friend and we were kids. That's what friends do, right?" Potter nodded, still holding him tight, but Draco was already shaking his head.

"He— He banished Blaise so hard that I thought he'd killed him. He was _so _angry… I'd never seen him like that and he hexed my mother just to stop her from intervening. His office—he was furious—and that fucking cane, but I never thought he would hurt me… He kept screaming how he _wasn't gonna raise a fag for a son_. I was a kid, I wasn't gay, I didn't even know what gay _was_ but—" Finally, his voice choked. Somewhere between a sob and a cough, he doubled over just to try to catch his breath but Potter was there, gently rubbing his back. Slow, soothing circles between his shoulder blades.

"Mal… Draco, it's okay. It's gonna be okay—"

"_No!_" He jumped at the force behind his own words, but couldn't stop himself. "No, it isn't okay because I got beatings and hexes and curses! I got spit on! I got to be terrified of ever getting close to _anyone_! I was so fucking scared, even then, but then school happened and it didn't matter what I wanted or who I wanted it with because my best friend almost _died_ over something completely innocent! I got pain and humiliation… But you get fucking hugs." He was sobbing, now, even with Potter pinning him down. It didn't matter. There was no more fight left in him and he didn't even _want _to fight Potter anymore.

He hadn't remembered that day. The rational part of his mind suggested that he'd blocked it out or suppressed it but the emotional part didn't give a shit. His father's face—red, sweaty, contorted with rage—was still burned into his brain. Nothing helped. Nothing could have prepared him for that trainwreck of a memory, and nothing could have prepared him for the fact that hadn't even remembered it. Now, he was second guessing everything. That distance between him and Blaise, even when they were alone… The uncomfortable way that his skin crawled when Pansy touched him… His hatred for practically every male in, and above, their year… He'd thought he'd been jealous but, the more he looked back, the more that churning of envy felt more like the burn of fear. And self-hatred.

"God, Draco, I'm so sorry…" Potter's voice managed to bring him back, a bit. When had he changed positions? His back was no longer warm, or pressing against Potter's chest, and he missed the anchor until he realized that he was being hugged. Potter was hugging him?

"_You didn't deserve that, Draco. No one deserves that._" It was soft—barely a whisper—but he heard it. Instantly, he just shattered. Never, in all his years of living, had anyone ever told him that he didn't deserve something negative. It was always 'down with the Death Eater scum' or 'you don't deserve to be happy' but no one had ever said that he didn't deserve… _that_. For the third time that day, Draco completely collapsed into a fit of tears and tremors.

This time, though, it was sadder. He was exhausted, emotionally and physically, and his mind was spinning still but Harry was holding him tightly against his chest. Wait, Harry? A hand lifted though, tracing up his spine and then smoothing his hair, and Draco decided then and there and this was Harry, not Potter. _Harry_ was hugging him, letting him sob and bury his face in the Gryffindor's shoulder, and Harry was crying with him. It wasn't the frantic, panicky sort of tears from before, though, and it wasn't angry anymore either. Now, it was just… overwhelmed.

Any number of people could have walked in on them in that moment. The entire damn school could have waltzed through the locker room and Draco wouldn't have noticed because Harry fucking Potter was hugging him. Terror churned in his gut, but he couldn't bring himself to act on it. Instead, he settled for just clinging to the man in front of him.

"I'm so sorry, Draco, but it's okay now. No one's gonna hurt you—I wouldn't let them, and you remember how stubborn I am, don't you?" Draco snorted, surprising himself, but Harry just smiled a bit. "It's okay, you don't have to be scared anymore, okay? You don't have to figure everything out, especially not right now, but you're not alone in this and I'm right here no matter what. _We_ are going to get through this, okay?"

He could only nod. What other response was there, really? Argue? His whole body was shaking with just the effort of being awake and his voice had gotten hard to understand about thirty sentences ago. It wasn't worth it to argue, either, because he didn't want to shatter this illusion for himself yet. Just for right now, everything was okay.

* * *

Thanks so much for reading! Please please please review! I hope to update soon but that's unrealistic knowing my current reliability lol


End file.
